


Soulmarks and Skidmarks

by FallingNarwhals



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (its minor), Alternate Universe - Racing, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Autistic Keith (Voltron), GUESS HOW THEY MEET HUH, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk has two moms, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Lance has breathing problems, M/M, New Houston - voltron, Russian Galaxy Garrison, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, as in furteristic bike/pod racing, lots of worldbuilding, mechanic hunk, mechanic keith, or more like 'i found this trash boy on the street hes mine now', well genderfluid pidge so their pronouns change a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingNarwhals/pseuds/FallingNarwhals
Summary: Keith didn't want much. A steady job, a place to call home, and maybe figure out the soulmark on his ankle that kept him emotionally tied to a stranger.Hunk is fresh off of a bigoted and terror ridden Earth all but clutching his degree by his fingertips, and decides that the small outpost town is perfect to live.And neither of them can deny the small throbbing of happiness though their marks.





	1. Vipers

**Author's Note:**

> uh heyooo this is a super long multific i totally wrote in my spare time? its a bit confusing at first with worldbuilding and such but i promises it gets easier. please enjoy!

His soulmark was throbbing again. Waves of panic coursed through his veins, and he set down the wrench and rolled over, clutching his ankle and concentrating on sending calming thoughts back.

His soulmate was even more panicky than normal nowadays. Keith didn't mind because he was cool headed and able to calm them down, but he was worried. Very worried. They’ve had episodes of anxiety in the past, mostly when they were teenagers, but it’s been a few years.

Another lurch of anxiety. Keith swallowed, the desert sun causing sweat to roll down his back under his tank top. He touched the small yellow mark on his ankle again, trusting in that article he read a while back that touching gives a better connection, and focused on his memory of flying, the feeling of wind ripping through his hair and happiness. 

Then, twisting his leg, awkwardly kissing the mark, hitting his head on the metal hull. Kissing the mark normally sent feather-light feelings and relaxed his soulmate, and it seemed to work now. The emotions stopped pushing at his mind, settling into a faint rhythm with Keith’s reassurance. 

The soulmark twisted into a circle and exploded in a faint yellow fireworks before forming back into a star. He smiled at the little display, wiping the dusty grime off of his ankle and went back to work.

He had barely just untwisted the faulty valve when he felt strangely happy, feathery wisps of love coursing through his bloodstream. His arms instinctively curled around his upper body, before shaking himself out of it. He smiled as he went back to work.

Then concentrating on the tasks on hand. He had gotten the job as a mechanic in a small town only a few months ago, and although the boss seemed to have a soft spot for him, he didn't want to disappoint by playing touchy-feely with his soulmate. His’s boss’s mark was a curled viper around their neck, that hissed and bit and snapped at anyone that dared to backtalk them, staring whenever Sefram’s back was turned.

Mx. Sefram themselves weren't that scary, a skinny person with a small unimposing frame, but their soulmate trained and raised snakes, hence the soulmark. Early in his employment, Keith had walked into the break room to see Sefram bench press one of his beefy co-workers, and promised himself never ever to get on their bad side.

Keith pushed himself out under the vehicle, throwing the valve in the spare parts box and grabbing a new one. Replacing valves and wiring in the engines were easy money, but if you didn't have the balls to stand the heat and sun then you couldn't get paid.

Keith liked the heat. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the underside of his tank top, before getting back under the engine.

The socket was dirtied with grease and too slick to make a decent seal, which is what probably caused the breakage in the first place. Keith wrapped his bandana around his hand before sticking his hand back up there, twisting his wrist and clearing all the grime he could.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he grunted. Only ten minutes left on his shift. He wished the boss would let him take double shifts, but they were a huge believer in hydrate or diedrate, making all of his coworkers work only six hour shifts before sending them home.

It was good money, though. Nearly fifty Rubles per vehicle he fixed up. 

He screwed the valve into place before twisting the opposite direction, covering the pumps in lubricant. Then shoving himself out under the engine, unclamped it from the pad, and swung his body over the seat, revving the engine.

The ion engine purred to life, quieter than a mouse. He smiled to himself and began clearing the outer shell of dust. 

He lost himself in thought, mechanically working away at the grime that caked the pedals and the boosters whilst going over his daily list of chores, trying to soothe the almost hardwired urge to run, find a new place to hide-

“Kogane, your shift was done nearly ten minutes ago.” Keith froze in his polishing, before turning around and looking slightly downward at a smirking Sefram. 

“Sorry, sir ma’am. I lost track of time.” Keith apologized, wringing his hands behind his back. 

They winked. “It’s alright. Just take some juice from the break room before you go. How many bikes did you fix up today?” Sefram propped an elbow up on the crates of spare parts, sending Keith a sharp toothed smile.

Keith gestured over to the other two bikes leaning against the poles. “The 240x and the 780. Just finished up this one too. All of ‘em purr like kittens, sir ma’am.”

Sefram nodded. Their soulmarked snake grinned cartoonishly. “Good. Now get outta my yard before you turn int’a one of ‘em dehydrated fruit pops.”

“Yes sir ma’am!” Keith threw his bandana in the biowaste, reminding himself to pick it up tomorrow once it was cleaned of excessive radiation.

“Oh, sir ma’am!” Keith suddenly remembered that he had to ask them something before he went home. “Can I take my toolbox with me? I’ll return it tomorrow. My 400 broke down yesterday.”

Sefram nodded. “Yeah. But take a bottle of juice with you.”

“Thank y’all!”

Keith grabbed his toolbox out of the shelf, tucking the loose pair of pliers back inside before he walked to the front room to clock out.

The front room was a combination of an office, a break room, and a pool table for some unknown reason. The table had no balls, no cues, an interesting stain right in the center and a metal pole holding up a side with a missing leg. When questioned, Sefram had waved it off. Keith learned not to question it. 

He had just opened the door to the fridge when he heard someone clear their throat, startling the shit outta him. He whipped around, clutching his preferred apple juice to use as a weapon, hand on his side bag.

Then he relaxed his arm. In one of the worn out armchairs was one of the most handsome people Keith had ever seen. Clean shaven with a headband pulling dark hair away from their face, a crisp white shirt neatly buttoned up to their neck, their dark eyes analyzed Keith warily before they spoke. “Are you Mx. Sefram?”

“Nah. They’re outside shoving water down my coworker’s throats.” Keith replied. “Oh! Are you here for the job interview?”

He had heard via gossip from Shirogane and Allura that Sefram had wanted to interview another kid, someone good with their hands and this one apparently has a scholarship on Earth. Keith had no idea how they ended up out here but he didn't mind. According to Allura the guy was born on Mars, and had no trace of terrarian in him.

“Yeah,” The person smiled. Keith’s heartbeat picked up. 

“They’ll be inside in a few minutes. What’s your name?” Keith turned and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Hunk. He/His.” He replied.

“Keith, he/his as well. Catch.” Keith tossed the juice box to Hunk, who caught it without flinching. “A good way to get on Sefram’s good side is drink a lot of fluids in front of them. They think we’ll die if we don't have a sip of water every five minutes.”

“Thanks, man.” Hunk said. His fingers tapped nervously on the side of the armchair, and he sat straight backed and stiff.

“And don’t worry, Sefram seems scary but they’ll love you. You got your degree from Earth?”

Hunk shrugged. “Yeah, but I don't see why that's impressive. Good skill doesn't rely on where you came from.”

“Ooh, I like that,” Keith snapped his fingers. “Say something like that if Sefram asks you. They never got a degree and they’re the best in a thousand kilometers.” 

“Oh! Thank you!”

“Anytime, dude.” Keith walked over to the exit and placed his hand on the doorknob. “And good luck on that interview!”

As he stepped outside, he felt a flutter of content though his soulmark. Like something just happened in the universe, the planets shifting just right or something, and all was perfect.

Maybe something weird in that juice Sefram stocked the fridge with.

That’s more logical.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cat

His bike was  _ beautiful.  _ Keith had built her from scratch from a wrecked Yohanda 400x and replaced the internal hull with a two-ion powered engine, reworked the hardware, and had Pidge help him with the hologram display so it showed exactly how fast he was going down to the millimeters. It could hardly be called a bike, especially one as daft as a 400, but the name stuck.

 

And damn, she was fast. 

 

Although his job at the repair shop got him by just fine, he truly loved racing to get extra cash. The races in the desert were fast paced and rough, more than often enough sending racers to the hospital (or to the referee’s house) and their wrecked bikes into Sefram’s workshop the next day. 

 

He finds it ironic. Lance finds it hilarious. Sefram thinks he’s insane.

 

Keith just loves the adrenaline high. And the emotions it sends to his soulmate, the happiness and freedom and hopefully confidence. 

 

But mostly the adrenaline high.

 

He cast his eyes to his beloved 400, before stepping inside his house that he had lovingly deemed “The Shit Shack.” He’d bought groceries that afternoon and didn't want the ice cream to melt any more in the sun.

 

He checked the outdoor temperature while hydrating a Food Pack and let out a huff. Nearing forty four degrees celsius. Nice and toasty. 

 

Not wanting to waste the daylight, he grabbed his toolbox and stepped outside, shedding his thin thermal protection jacket and letting the red sun hit his bare skin. He went to work, popping the lid of the engine and reaching inside to those loose wires.

 

The problem was more complicated than he first thought. The engine had gained a lot of waste from the ion engine and mixing with the dust and thin atmosphere, so he went to the back of the house and got an oxygen tank, venting pure oxygen inside the engine to settle the waste. After waiting five minutes for the oxygen to escape and mix with the surrounding air, he wiped down the internal gears and vents with a non static cloth. 

 

Then came the wiring. The internal carbon fibres to the hologram display were loose, so he tightened them the best he could, melting the ones that couldn't be tightened by hand to the internal hull.

 

Excitement and gratitude flowed though the mark. Keith felt it itch in joy and couldn't help but smile as his soulmate celebrated-

 

Celebrated whatever it was. 

 

As night drew near, Keith reluctantly put his thermal coat back on for fear of the cold nights. He didn't mind being roasted to the core, he did grow up in New Houston right near the worst of the  prominence , but it was the cold he feared. Cold winds didn't warm you up. 

 

Finally he fixed the internal wiring, replaced and cleaned the valve, and checked on the tiny pellet of uranium that powered his bike in the first place.

 

No ruptures. That’s good. He knew a guy who ignored a crack in his bike’s pellet and blew his ass up in the middle of space. 

 

Lost an arm from it too. 

 

Keith tried not to think about that too much.

 

Tightening his thermal around his chest, he rushed inside before the worst of the cold could get to him. Putting the heaters on full blast up to a toasty twenty seven degrees, he threw his clothes in the basket of soiled clothing. Keith crinkled his nose. He’ll have to do laundry soon. 

 

Soulmark. Yeah. Keith pressed two fingers to the yellow star and sent a wave of affection and pride. He wasn't sure what his soulmate did, you only get emotions and such after all, but damnit he was proud. Especially with the anxiety they've been suffering from recently. 

 

Maybe whatever was causing it finally lessened? 

 

He slung himself over the couch, kicking off his shoes and pants and clicked on the TV, wrapping himself in that red woven wool from Earth. 

 

As characters from a rerun of late 2560’s shows danced on the screen, he closed his eyes and let all of the emotions wash over him from today, careful not to touch his soulmark to alarm them.  

 

He needed a friend, someone closer than his coworkers at the repair shop. He wanted his soulmate with him so badly it hurt. He’d been on his own since eleven when those damn terrarians blew up his military parents. Before then it was the same thing. Move every year. Take a different way home every day. Don’t make patterns. Don’t make close friends. Never leave home without the basic essentials and a weapon in case we get blown up.

 

They got blown up. Keith ran from New Houston. Moved town every year. Don't make friends.

 

Just recently, at twenty one, did he realize that his parents were nut jobs. He had a soulmark, he was destined to be with someone and settle down, maybe have some kids or like, five dogs. 

 

Damn military. 

 

He caught sight of the thin scars on his legs.

 

Damn parents.

 

* * *

 

His shift started at two pm this day. Keith left at twelve, basket of dusty laundry in the storage compartment of his 400.

 

Halfway through town a fluffy red  _ thing  _ ran in front of him, out of the weeds growing on the side of the road. Keith swerved to avoid it, turning back to get a good look at the thing that he’d almost killed.

 

A rusty red cat with yellow eyes stared back, almost as if Keith almost didn't kill the strange thing. It panted lightly, likely from lack of water, and padded across the ground towards him.

 

That’s when Keith noticed it didn't have any thermal protection. Not even little boots like Pidge’s dog.

 

_ Poor thing,  _ he thought. He took his phone out of his pocket and aimed the camera at the cat, looking for an identification chip. None popped up.

 

“Here, kitty kitty kitty.” He catcalled, sliding off the bike and lowering his body to the ground. “You want to go inside with me? It’ll be cold, and I can give you some socks. They’ll be big, but you won't burn your paws. I could feed you too.”

 

The cat regarded him, and slowly swaggered towards him in that lazy way that only cats can put off. He rubbed his head against Keith’s arm, purring wildly.

 

Keith picked the tomcat up, surprised at how calm the cat was. He’d had a cat once, and it had hated him. He turned the cat over to inspect his paws, and hissed when he saw the swollen and cracked pads. 

 

“Shit, man. You’ve had it rough.” Keith commented. The cat only purred louder. Keith one handedly started the bike up again, carefully driving the half kilometer to the laundromat. The cat curled up in the small space between his lap and the hologram displays, seeming content riding along at sixty kilometers an hour.

 

He couldn't just leave the cat there. So he brought him inside, placing him on top of the warm dryers. The cat stayed put, only meowing when Keith went back outside to get his laundry.

 

He threw in half a Ruble and didn't even bother to sort the clothing, letting it all wash into one faded color eventually. While the cycle was going the cat jumped down, landing on Keith’s shoulders and letting out a little “Pbbrt?”

 

Oh yeah. Cats need water. He took out the shallow cup from his side pack and poured some water in it, placing the cup on the ground. 

 

“Drink up, kitty.” He placed the cat on the ground. The cat lapped at the water. 

 

Once his laundry was done he folded it up and went up front for some rubber bands. When he came back the cat had drunk every last drop of the water and had sat on the warm laundry, getting dust and red cat fur all over his favorite shirt. 

 

Keith just laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cat cat


	3. skidsouls and markmarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it happens

Running back to the Shit Shack meant he was cutting it close to being late, but he could always stay for an extra half hour. He dusted off the cat, turned on the climate control to heat the shack to a cool twenty degrees, and left some water out. An old cardboard box filled with dirt became a litterbox in the bathroom. The cat thanked him by dropping a huge shit right in front of him, meowing happily.

 

“Thanks, asshole.” The cat still had no name, so Keith would have to think about one during work hours. “I’ll pick you up some burn cream for ya lil toe beans too, right? I’ll be back at six.”

 

Keith didn't know why he was talking to this cat like it could understand him, but then again he was a man in his twenties living off of race money, fixing engines, and reruns of sixties TV shows. If he has a cat now, he’ll treat him like a human being. 

 

Not like a terrarian, though. Those guys need to back the fuck off.

 

The cat gave him a slow blink as Keith left the house, jumping on the couch and curling up in a ball.

 

* * *

 

“Pronouns?” Keith asked as he marked the time on his card.

 

“They/them today. You’re late.” Pidge teased. “The Coranic saw you in the laundromat with a cat. Late because you found a furry friend?”

 

“Yeah. New cat. Don’t tell Sefram? I’m pretty sure they’ll set their snakes on me.”

 

“Sefram’s cool if you told ‘em you got a cat.” Pidge waved their hand. “Also, they saved a Pastra 700xx for you.” 

 

“A  _ what! _ ” Keith gasped. “But those just came out on the market and are like, a billion Rubles!”

 

“I know!” Pidge grinned. “Some hot shot Earth guy came by and dropped it off. Said he’ll be racing tonight?” 

 

“Earth? Great.” Keith groaned. “Probably full of bacteria. Is it decontaminated?” 

 

“Yeah. Hunk did it earlier.”

 

Keith felt a shot of adrenaline shoot through his bloodstream at the mention of the hot guy. “Hunk got the job?”

 

Pidge narrowed their eyes. “Yeah. Why you got that tone, and increasing heart rate?”

 

“Damn your cyborg tech, my heart is  _ private _ .” Keith rolled his eyes. “I want to get my hands on that Pastra.”

 

“No distractions!” Pidge yelled after him.

 

“Ешьте мой весь мудак!” he yelled back.

 

“Well, fuck you too!”

* * *

  
  


The Pastra 700xx was beautiful. The owner must have dropped it in for minor repairs they probably could have fixed themself but likely just wanted to show off. 

 

It was sleek, an egg shaped cockpit with life support, up to eight atmospheres of pressure, barely a scratch or dent, and the ion engine was  _ self cleaning. _ Cleaning the waste normally took half the job.

 

But when he popped the hood, the problem was clear. Two carbonfiber wires were completely burnt out, causing the engine to go into radious mode, which had ruptured a lot of the internal hardware. Keith had the same problem with his 400.

 

He went to work, threading new carbonfibers into the engine and adding his own flair, twisting the wires into a spiral so the heat wouldn't radiate into the water reclaimer. That was a flaw he noticed on the 700xx plans he had downloaded, and had fixed the problem without much thought.

 

_ Hope this Earth guy appreciates it. _ He mentally mumbled. He never trusted those assholes from Earth with their body modifications and an air that they were the  _ pure  _ humans.

 

Then, a soft knock on his wall. He looked up from the engine, wrench in his mouth and pliers behind his ears, and almost dropped them both.

 

Hunk was standing in the shabby doorway, but looking way more comfortable than he had when Keith first met him. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal tattoos with amazing designs, glistening with sweat and face stained with grease and ion waste. 

 

He was heavenly. Keith felt his heart race.

 

“Hey! You working on the Pastra?” He grinned. Goddamnit he even sounded better, like he was more at home and at ease.

 

Keith’s soulmark itched. He grinned in response. “Yeah! Thanks for decontamin’ it earlier. I didn't want to catch the flu or somethin’.” 

 

“No prob, man! You need some help?”

 

“Yeah. You wanna take a look at the internal wiring, make sure I didn't fuck anything up? Normally I get Shirogane to do it but he had to go to New Houston for an arm check.”

 

“Sure.” Hunk squatted by the low bearing engine, crinkling his cute little nose. “Did you curl the wire or did it come like that? I don't remember seeing that in the schematics.”

 

_ Oh god he actually read the schematics.  _ Keith was udderly doomed.

 

“Did it myself. A straight carbonfiber will disrupt the flow of the water reclaimer. With this it won’t burn off the water so quickly, and will change the internal temperature to a more accurate readout.” 

 

“You’re brilliant. What if you twist it around the engine though, to gain more power?” Hunk demonstrated with his thick hands around the circular pump, and that’s when Keith saw it.

 

A red star, shining beautifully on his inner wrist, eerily similar to his own. Then his hand moved, dropping back to his side. 

 

It had to be a coincidence.

 

“Yeah, that’s even better! Also, I like your tats, man.” Keith twisted the wire around the engine, making note of how his soulmark itched badly. 

 

“Thanks! I got them when I visited my homeland on Earth. It’s a traditional thing with polynesian folk? Either way I look badass.” 

 

“You so do though? You look like a warrior.” Keith accidentally tapped two metal wires together and yelped at the sparks that caught his wrist. 

 

“Oh, fuck! You alright-” Hunk grabbed Keith’s wrist and an explosion of emotions flooded through him, tingling his toes and causing white spots to form behind his eyes. He gasped in confusion and excitement, and Hunk let go of his wrist. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” Hunk breathed. His chest was heaving. Keith realized Hunk must have felt the same thing. 

 

“Oh my goodness. Let me see your soulmark.” Keith said nervously, letting a bit of his old New Houston accent drip into his voice. He kicked his leg up on the Pastra, rolling up the leg of his jeans to expose that yellow star that was tingling with sparks.

 

Hunk turned his inner wrist towards Keith’s. “Oh-!” 

 

The stars swelled and popped in sync, one red and the other a brilliant yellow, trickling emotions into each other no matter how far the distance. But now his soulmate was here, and so close they could touch, and the marks knew.

 

“It’s you!” Keith exclaimed, kicking his leg off and bear hugging Hunk, who didn't even hesitate to hug back.

 

“It's  _ you!” _ Hunk repeated, lifting Keith in the air. They were out in the hot desert sun and stank like sweat and grease and exhaust and smoke, but it was the best damn smell in the entire universe.

 

Hunk’s arms were warm, and the happiness and excitement flooding though their marks was  _ addictive.  _ Keith never wanted to let go.


	4. eclipse! (august 21)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy eclipse everyone! please enjoy this chapter while waiting for bailys beads and the wedding ring!
> 
> for those of you not in america, enjoy this nethertheless!

Hunk was born in an inclosed farming community and almost no one hadn't met their soulmate at a young age. When his moms realized he had a gift for mechanics, they sent him to Earth to study and to their homeland of Hawaii to learn his history. He liked Earth well enough, but didn't like how everyone treated him like he was an alien.

 

They were all human, after all! Just because he was born on another planet and had red dirt under his nails and had never seen a waterfall in his life shouldn't make him any less of a person.

 

Then the terrarians took over the Americas and forced Hunk to flee to Russia to take the soyeuz shuttles home. He didn't bother mourning the loss, just clutched his degree to his chest and powered through, shoving his anxiety aside as he always did.

 

After that he’d left the farm community and ran off into the desert, chasing after a wild feeling that his destiny was out there. He hopped from town to town, settlement to settlement, but none had ever felt quite  _ right. _

 

And then he applied for a job on some other settlement, not expecting to get it because he’d spent a year on Earth, and met Keith Kogane.

 

Keith, who was nice to him despite knowing he was on Earth, who gave him advice to get the job and excitedly danced around a Pastra 700 before gleefully opening its hatch, ready to fix whatever was thrown at him.

 

Keith, who had an gorgeous smile and soft hands and even softer lips and a cat named Lava and had probably never cut his hair but that was alright because when it was tangled in Hunk’s fingers it felt like he was touching heaven.

 

And now he was on a sofa in a house dubbed “The Shit Shack”, his soulmate was kissing him, and he was kissing back, chastely and softly, closed lips and hands just barely applying pressure to his shoulders, guiding him closer.

 

A cat Keith had only found a few weeks ago, named Lava but had a variety of other nicknames including “asshole” and “lava rocks” and Hunk’s personal favorite “The Big Shitter in the Shit Shack” was meowing loudly as he ate his food, paws wrapped in bandages and slav.

 

He never paid much attention to houses outside of his airlocked farming community, but now he was admiring just how homely Keith’s was. It was clad with wood inside and out, but had airtight insulation, a broken airlock that now doubled as a mud room, woven blankets everywhere, and most of all  _ Keith. _

 

When Hunk first saw him he knew he was fucked. Keith had an aura about him that made his cheeks flush and his heart speed up. He had dated a bit back home but had never come close to what they had achieved in a little over two weeks. 

 

Kissing. Kissing each other’s soulmarks made the most pleasant feelings in the world, kissing bare skin made Keith shudder, kissing the back of his neck made him sink into Hunk, and nipping at his collarbone made Keith  _ ascend. _

 

They couldn't get enough of each other. Their taste, and running fingers up and down their spines and tummies and knotting in hair and  _ oh goodness gracious  _ it was amazing. Every day they went home to the Shack, (with their homely and worn sofa which blew those dusty motel mattresses out of the water),and Keith would fall asleep on Hunk’s chest, their heartbeats in sync and each of them loving the other so much.

 

And then came a half asleep question that put Hunk on edge. 

 

“Do you want to race with me on the weekend?”

 

Hunk paused his hands as they ran up and down Keith’s back, massaging out the tense muscles. “I can't race. I have a hecking Jeep, not a bike.”

 

Regulations for racing ment bikes, not all terrain vehicles. 

 

“I meant with me. On the same bike. Kick that Lotor’s ass and shove that Pastra down his throat.” 

 

Keith had adjusted himself so his chin rested on Hunk’s chest, hands folded. His eyes sparkled in the light from the TV which cast shadows on his face and hair. Hunk swallowed. 

 

Love swelled though their soulmarks, feathery, light and wispy.

 

“I’ll slow you down.” Hunk said gently. “I weigh too much. I want you to have the best possible conditions to race.”

 

“And for those conditions, I want my soulmate’s arms around my waist as we kick Lotor’s purple Earth ass.” 

 

Then that cute little nose crinkle. “Would his ass be purple? That would hurt.”

 

“He got it everywhere man, even his eyelids. I think it’ll be on his asscheeks too, he seems like the type.”

 

“Ouch. I do not get the concept of skin dyeing.” Keith shuddered. “But don't change the subject, I want you to race with me.”

 

And Hunk couldn't say no to those gorgeous dark eyes and those hands that ran through his hair.

* * *

 

Keith contemplated leaving his knife behind. 

 

It was a reminder of his past, his strict and paranoid parents that made him keep the weapon on him at all times, often ignoring how Keith accidentally cut himself on his legs as a child. He has some pretty decent scars there now that made Hunk rub them worriedly when they slept together, boxers on and toes flirting beneath the blanket.

 

Maybe one day he’ll tell Hunk his story.

 

The Big Shitter in the Shit Shack sat on the countertop, sharpening his claws on the weather-worn wood. He let out a “prbt” as Keith reached out to pet him, before jumping on Keith’s shoulders. “Hey Lava rocks,”

 

His paws were healing nicely. One day he’ll put proper thermal wear on him and take him outside. Maybe he can get some [tiny goggles to protect him from sandblasts.](http://narwhalsarefalling.tumblr.com/post/162772714095/doodles-from-the-past-few-days-1-cat-wearing)

 

But for now, he was strictly under an “indoor cat arrangement.”

 

Before he could change his mind, he shoved the knife in a drawer with some books and pens. His side pack felt empty without it. 

 

Then he crept over to the couch, where Hunk was currently passed out, blanket half over his body. Then Keith had a evil idea.

 

He plucked Lava from his shoulders and dropped the needle-clawed cat onto Hunk’s belly, the cat yelping in surprise. Hunk snorted awake. 

 

“Mornin’ sweetums.” Keith teased. “Hydrated breakfast for you too.” 

 

Hunk swung his feet over the couch and yawned, petting Lava, who settled in his lap. Keith passed him the hydrated muffin.

 

“If we win tomorrow,” Hunk began, voice husky with sleep. “I’ll make us some real food.”

 

Keith raised his eyebrows. “What’s the difference?”

 

Hunk grinned. Some emotion that Keith couldn't quite identify spread though his mark. “Flavor.”

 

Keith nodded. “That’s what pepper is for.”

 

“Oh  _ god, _ Keith.”

 

Keith politely averted his eyes as Hunk changed, and heard a snort. “You can look if you want.” 

 

Keith slowly opened his eyes and drank in the sight. Hunk’s belly was tattooed with those amazing swirls, his dark skin caught the dawnlight, looking amber and so  _ soft. _ He pulled his sleep pants off, folding them neatly on the dresser that somehow became his, and changing into a decent pair of jeans. His thighs were so thick and wonderfully jiggly, thin swirls of ink adding a nice decorative look. 

 

His back still turned, Keith crept up and wrapped his thin arms around Hunk’s middle, burying his face into his shoulderblades and linking his fingers together. Hunk’s skin was just as soft as it looked, and he was so tall Keith had to go on his toes just to press his face into Hunk’s back.

 

They stood there, one minute, two minutes, breathing in and out. Hunk tentatively pressed his fingers over Keith’s clasped hands, breath catching. McFrucket curled around their legs.

 

“‘ou’re beautiful,” Keith murmured. 

 

“I’ll be more beautiful earing money so we can feed the Asshole real cat food.” Keith giggled and unclasped his hands, tossing Hunk his thermals and goggles after getting fully dressed. Lava let out a mraow, recognizing that his caregivers were leaving already.

 

“These are your goggles.” Hunk stated in confusion. They were designed for riding bikes, automatically filtering out excess light and alerting the wearer of targets. Mostly used in races.

 

“You’re driving.” Keith said, tightening Hunk’s newer standard ones over his head. 

 

“Oh honey boo, you’re gonna get the  _ worst _ ride of your life.”

 

“You can't be that bad!”

* * *

  
  


He was that bad. The engine sputtered under his care and he gripped the handlebars too tight, mistook the brake for the power and sent Keith flying off more than once. Keith loved every minute of it.

 

He could see Hunk blushing furiously under his thermals as Keith picked himself up again, dusting the dirt off of his parka. 

 

“You want me to drive? You’re used to allterrain vehicles, not hoverbikes. It’s understandable.” 

 

Hunk nodded, clutching the break and sliding off. They traded goggles and Hunk wrapped his arms around Keith’s middle. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“For wh- KEITH!” Hunk yelped as Keith blasted off at top speed, a tail of dust flying into the thin atmosphere in their wake. Hunk tightened his grip around Keith, and let out a shaky laugh. 

 

“Now I know how you felt when I knocked you off!” 

 


	5. Heard you was talkin' shit and u didn't think that I would hear it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that I wrote this before we had any canon interaction with Lotor, so his character is spoiled. Instead of going back and fixing it, I'll work with what we have now as character development. 
> 
> In light of that, please enjoy this chapter!

Three trucks all had the same issue today, and Hunk was tired of fixing the same old stuff over and over. Unscrew the valve, clean out the radioactive shit, replace the plating, problem solved. Hunk was beginning to think of himself as a glorified engine sweeper.

Sefram made him take a break after the second one, their surprisingly strong arms pushing Hunk into the front room.

“Drink some water! It’s from New Houston with love!” They shouted. Hunk let out a snort at the obscure meme.

Pidge, leg detached, was laying on the pool table with the fan blowing on them. “Heya Hunk.”

“‘Sup. Pronouns?”

“Eh, feelin’ fem today.” She thought. “Mostly thinking about how the hell I’ma fix Shiro's arm this time.”

“Shiro?” Hunk grabbed a bottle of apple juice from the fridge.

“Ah. Takashi Shirogane. Have y’all met? He’s my brother’s soulmate. Or sole-matt, as he unfortunately uses.”

“Haven't quite yet. Isn't that-”

“The guy that forgot to check his radiation pellets and blew himself up in space? Yeah.” she rolled her eyes. “Keith alwa’s felt guilt’ ‘bout that.”

“Keith? But he had nothing to do with it.” Hunk sat himself on the countertop, balancing his weight so he didn't bend the thing like last time.

Pidge eyed him warily. “That’s his story to tell. When he’s ready. He’s-” she swallowed. “He’s had a lot in his past. I’m glad he finally found you. You were the one consistent thing in his life before he came here.”

“Oh.” Hunk didn't really know what to say to that. All he ever did was offer reassurance through emotions and feelings. He never felt like it was a constant thing, because Keith offered just the same.

“I have to get back to work.” He pushed himself off he tabletop, leaving the unopened juice bottle.

Fixing the engines went faster and easier after that.

 

* * *

 

The track could barely be called a track, more like a glorified outcroppings and a dust trail framed by rocks. It twisted into the canyon and back out, nearly sixteen kilometers in length. Keith had raced it many times before, always winning at least a few Rubles to his name. Lance often raced with him for friendly competition.

Hunk had often cheered him on, watching from a drone he had set up to record races. But now Pidge (“He/Him today.”) sat at the top of an outcropping with Shiro, drone nicknamed Rover, and camera ready.

The referee was an old earth native that hated her own planet, and made no money off the races. But she cast a curious glance at Keith and his extra rider, hidden under ragged thermals and goggles.

“Kogane.” She greeted. “Parner?”

A lady of short words.

“Yes.” was all he gave her. Racers were quick to the point, offering no small talk or additional information.

Lotor didn't seem to get that rule. He babbled on and on, even when no one was listening to him. And his purple skin glistened in the moonlight.

Hunk squeezed his hips, and Keith nodded in silent agreement. That’s her.

The hag turned away to inspect the next bike in line, and Keith let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why, having another partner is completely within the rules, and he had no illegal modifications. He had paid the entry fee.

Maybe it was the gaze she sent him, like she could see through their thermals and clothing and saw those soulmarks. Keith shuddered, but not because of the cold nipping at his exposed ankles and wrists. He reached town to tuck his thermals in so he wouldn't get frostbite. He needed new boots.

When the referee climbed up to her outcropping, the slight murmurs from the people watching fell silent.

She raised her hands, and nearly a hundred engines roared to life. All built to be quiet and fast, together they sounded like an explosion, Keith kicked the side of his 400, twisting the handlebars. The 400 purred like a kitten. He grinned. Perfect.

Then she quickly brought her arms down to her shoulders, and they were off. Hunk let out an excited whoop as they flew to the front, their small bike dodging out of the path of larger ones. He lifted the handlebars mechanically where a boulder blocked most of the path, getting an extra boost of air. He had done it millions of times, but now the added ping of excitement though his soulmark made the whole experience better.

He knew this canyon so good he could fly though it blind and not hit a thing.

Another pod passed him by, a fresh coated but still ancient 780 with three valves, adding an extra boost for stability. Keith knew that because he’d worked on the damn thing with his spare time for ages just so the rider could get an extra boost of speed without crashing it into a cliff.

“Hey, Lance!” He shouted over the wind. Lance didn't turn but flipped him off friendly. Keith let out a howl of laughter, turning quickly at the overhang and getting so close he practically scraped the red stones, and the engine acknowledged the surface and used it as a boost, gaining speed to ride alongside Lance.

“How’s the engine?” he asked casually, as if they weren't racing at breakneck speed through thin walls and dust flying high behind them.

“Great! Heya, Hunk!” Lance greeted over the wind. It was an amazing feat to yell with an air mask on, but somehow Lance managed it. Keith never wore a mask and had never known anyone who did until Lance. It was medical, from New Houston, but painted in bright colors to hide the wiring and the thin tube that vented oxygen into Lance’s lungs.

“‘sup!” Hunk shouted back.

Keith swerved to the left to avoid another jutted stone, but Lance didn't notice it until barely a second later, and his turn lost him some placing on Keith.

“Fuck you Kogane!”

“Love you too!” He yelled back. He felt a hand move from his waist and into the air, probably flipping Lance off, or sending him a kiss. Either would be just as funny.

Then it settled again, but Hunk pressed his body closer and buried his face in Keith’s shoulder. The goggles pressed uncomfortably into his skin but didn't make and attempt to shake Hunk off.

Warmth spread through his soulmark, and his grin grew wider.

Then the unfortunate event named Prince Lotor decided to make himself known.

The Pastra had a closed cockpit with a stable atmosphere, but it wasn't designed for racing. It was designed for space travel, which made the pod gain speed over time. Lotor was already fast, and for a newbie he navigated the rocky desert skillfully, which made for a deadly combination.

Not deadly, per se. Mostly annoying.

Keith twisted the bars back, pushing the 400 to her limits, and knocking her against the back of the Pastra, loosening the nuclear wiring and jostling the passenger inside. The pod was covered in darkened glass, but had it been open air Lotor would have been swearing at him.

He dodged a swerve from the Pastra and sped ahead while Lotor lost speed. The wiring readjusts itself after a moment but it was enough to get Keith an advantage.

And Lance knew the trick too. Probably help them both out by jostling him extra hard.

Finally they were out of the rocky outcroppings, and onto the open desert. Two kilometers of free flying, and Keith knew what to do.

He made little turns to stir up more dust, causing visual impairments to riders behind him. Hunk whooped into his ear, long since raising his head to admire their surroundings.

“We’re gonna make it!”

“Yeah!” Keith squeezed the bars tighter, the readouts on the dim hologram display higher than anything before. “We’re gonna be the first ones-”

“Keith!”

The Pastra emerged from the dust behind them, casting a shadow over the small vehicle. In the open desert, the Pastra picked up speed almost instantly and had gained on the two of them.

And the driver was furious.

Lotor smashed the pod against the side of the bike, going directly against the rules, and didn't flinch as the driver fell to the sand and crumpled, the passenger only barely able to slow down the bike enough to get off.

Lotor sped off with a tiny drone just meters above them, recording the whole exchange.

Hunk raced to Keith’s side, thermals loose and cold creeping in through the loosened cloth.

“Keith!” he cried. He knelt in the sand, turing Keith’s body over to expose his slack face. Thermals had fallen off in the fall, and his nose had a trickle of blood.

“Fuck.” Hunk tied the thermals around his face and lifted him up. Keith let out a moan and shrunk in his arms, shivering. “Hang in there, love.”

The bike, sensing the lack of riders, had pulled to a stop, engine humming. Hunk slung Keith’s arms over his shoulder, careful to lean his face forward so he didn't choke on his own blood.

“‘unk?” he groaned. “You can't ride.”

“I know. I have to.”

Hunk twisted the handlebars lightly, eyes widening as it jerked forward. Keith’s head rolled sideways.

Several bikes and pods had passed them already, a few of the riders looking on in pity or worry. Most didn't even glace. Hunk sped up, keeping side by side with another pod, the bike shaking under his control.

Only half a kilometer to go.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Pidge had seen everything, and was waiting with Allura at the finish line with first aid supplies at the ready. Lance had made second place and was talking to the referee, trying to explain what happened. 

 

As Hunk and Keith all but hobbled across the finish line, Allura grabbed Keith with a surprising display of strength and carried him to the back of her vehicle, wrapping a blanket around him. Pidge shut off the 400 and moved it under an overhang so it stayed out of the way of other riders.

 

“You’re bleeding.” He said, touching metal fingers to Hunk’s arm. “Let’s get that wrapped up.”

 

He guided Hunk to the side of Allura’s truck, grabbed some gauze from the kit, and rolled up the sleeve of Hunk’s thermals to expose a rough scrape. 

 

“Yikes in the yard,” Hunk lightly commented. Pidge let out a tiny smile. He wrapped the gauze around his thick arm.

 

Then the air changed. Hunk and Pidge looked up to see the referee, eyes glittering under hooded thermals. 

 

“He has a concussion.” Allura only stated, unfazed by the hag’s appearance. 

 

“I’ll take him.” 

 

“No!” Hunk exclamation. The referee turned her head to him at an almost owl like glance, and regarded him with cold yellow eyes. 

 

Hunk gulped. “He doesn't even know you. I don’t know you. And Allura can heal him perfectly fine.”

 

“It is not your decision, Soulmate.” She snapped. Hunk felt a shiver of some unplaced fear though his heart. “Kogane will heal under my care.”

 

Hunk desperately looked to Allura and Pidge for support, who didn't meet his gaze. 

 

“She’s right, Hunk.” Allura finally said.

 

“Fine.” He turned to the hag. “But I want to go with you.”

 

The referee’s mouth was covered, but Hunk had a sickening feeling that she was smiling. “That is fine. Carry him to my pod.”

 

She turned and all but floated away. Hunk leaned over onto the bed of the truck to reveal Keith, head wrapped and eyes half lidded.

 

“Don't let him fall asleep.” Allura said. 

 

Hunk, for the second time that day, lifted Keith into his arms. Keith blinked slowly, and let out a crooked grin. 

 

“Heya,”

 

“It’s gonna be alright, Keith. Just stay awake.”

 

* * *

 

 

The referee’s pod was old, with worn seats made of leather and the smell of singed hair in the cockpit. 

 

“What do I call you?” He asked. Her thermals had been taken off to reveal dark skin, darker than his, and stark white hair. 

 

“You’ve been calling me a Hag. Quite close. Hagger.”

 

Hagger’s house was an old apartment, with coils of wire on every available surface and a strange grey cat that watched from a shelf. Keith’s nose had stopped bleeding.

 

“Set him on that bed and clean the grime off of him. He smells like a damned terrarian.”

 

“He smells perfectly fine!” But he did as she said. Keith’s eyes widened as the cat jumped off the shelf and onto the bed, intelligent eyes watching Hunk intently. 

 

“Pretty kitty,” he mumbled.

 

Keith leaned into Hunk’s hand as he washed the dried blood off his cheek. Hunk smiled, a flash of  emotion crossing his features, almost like pity.

 

“You’re scared,” Keith said. “Don't be.”

 

He kissed the soulmark on Hunk’s wrist. 

 

Hunk glanced over his shoulder. Hagger was preparing a bag of medicine for Keith, not paying attention to the two boys.

 

“I don't trust her.”

 

Keith shook his head, then winced. “She knows a lot. Trust her a little, for me?”

 

Puppy eyes. Keith had puppy eyes. It may have been from the concussion, causing his pupils to widen, but Hunk couldn't say no.

 

“Okay. Just a little.”

 

Haggar swooped from the kitchen, hanging the bag from a hook on the low ceiling, and pushing back Keith’s sleeves to find a decent sized vein. Not even bothering to clean the needle or the arm, she jabbed it into the thick vein, making Keith wince.

 

“What is that?” Hunk asked.

 

“Morphine and medicines that speed up the healing process. It makes him sleep.” She hooked the bag around a lighting fixture on the wall, causing the light to flicker momentarily.

 

Sure enough Keith’s eyelids were starting to droop. His head slumped on his chest, before jerking back upward and dizzily looking Hunk in the eyes.

 

“You’ll be alright, Keith. You can sleep now.”

 

Keith nodded, before closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh.

 

Haggar turned her head. Hunk had the strangest feeling that she had watched on with tears in her eyes.

 

“Get his thermals off of him before he overheats. Then sweep up that dust you tracked in. I must attend to Lotor’s punishment and address the rest of the racers.”

 

She left, silent but for a slight drag of her thermals as she floated out the door, leaving a slight trace of dust on the dented metal floors.

 

Hunk did what she said, carefully avoiding the needle on Keith’s arm, he stripped Keith of his outer layers of clothing, shook out the dust and folded them neatly on the floor. He did the same to himself, then looked around to find a broom. The strange grey cat settled on Keith’s lap. 

 

Hunk opened up a closet to reveal child sized thermals, clothing, and a folder of artwork, and some blankets. A cabinet revealed bowls, but with no lids.  Another closet was a small pantry with a dustpan and broom.

 

Why would Haggar have child’s clothing? The rest of the house showed no signs of another person living there. No homework on the table, no extra room for privacy, even the bathroom only had one toothbrush. The thermals were too small to fit Haggar and too big to fit the strange cat.

 

He swept up the sand and dirt, and knocked it out of an open window. Keith had long since fallen asleep, fluids steadily dripping into Keith, and a soft breeze that rattled the thin walls. The cat had closed its eyes, purring ever so slightly.

 

Hunk laid down next to him, pulling out his phone. Lance had sent him a text telling him that he had returned the 400 to their house, and another asking if Keith was alright. Several worried texts from Allura, and one from Sefram that only read “you are not coming in tomorrow. paid vacation.” followed by a snake emoji.

 

Hunk thanked Lance, gave Allura an update on Keith, and sent a thumbs up to Sefram. 

 

The cat had opened its eyes and stretched, before settling between the crook of Keith’s and Hunk’s bodies. Hunk scratched its ears.

 

That’s when Hunk realized why it looked so strange. The cat had another set of ears, just behind its head.

 

* * *

 

 

Haggar kicked him out in the morning, and Lance picked him up in his Jeep, mask replaced with a pair of orange glasses and thin breathing tubes around his ears. 

 

“How’s Keith?” He asked worriedly. One of the soulmarks on the back of his hand fluttered nervously.

 

“Haggar says she’ll send him home with Allura later tonight. Can we go to the store real quick? I want to surprise him.”

 

“Yeah. What you got in mind?”

 

“A bed. We’ve been sleeping on a couch.”

 

“Brah to what!” Lance exclaimed, eyes widening behind his orange glasses. “Not even a pull out?”

 

“I didn't mind.” Hunk shrugged. “But it's a small couch. Which means great cuddling, but bad backs every morning. Plus the cat likes to sleep with us and it gets pretty crowded.”

 

Lance nodded. “Yeah, I’ll help you bring it to the Shit Shack too. Plus, I need to refill my oxygen because I think this dosage has a touch too much Nitrogen. I feel like I’m fallin’ asleep.”

 

“Should I drive?” Hunk offered.

 

“After the way you drove last night? Hell no!” Lance laughed. “I’ma be fine.”

 

He stopped at the corner and shut off the engine. Lance swung the tank of oxygen over his shoulder and marched into the store.

 

The Store was the only shop in town, and it was the size of a warehouse. It was a combination of a flea market, a bomb shelter, and it sold clothing, groceries and other basic essentials. Bartering and stealing were common, and you had to watch your step. Lance loved it.

 

“Get a mattress and some bedding. I’ll meet you in the back in like, fifteen minutes.” And Lance was off, leaving Hunk to his own devices. 

 

He elbowed his way to the back of the store, avoided vendors and people who looked like pickpockets. It was crowded that morning because everything gets restocked during race nights, which are the only times when the store is empty. A lot of people who live out in the desert or those weird Amish folk in the canyons liked to travel here once a month to buy everything they needed. As a result, the store was diverse in its people and color and languages, and you could get almost anything.

 

He picked out a soft looking mattress that would be big enough for both of them and within the money in his wallet, and was looking at bedsheets when Lance came back. 

 

“Stars or flowers?” Hunk held up the packages of cloth.

 

“Stars. To match your soulmarks.” Lance replied easily. His second soulmark burst into flames before reforming the flower on his neck. “Which mattress did you pick?”

 

Hunk pointed to the soft looking one.

 

“Cool. Let’s get it out.”

 

They pulled the mattress down, grabbing it from the sides with the box of sheets on top of it, when Hunk remembered something. 

 

“Pillows!” 

 

Lance’s eyes widened. “Duh! Let's get ‘em after we buy this. This is huge.”

 

“I’m a big guy.”

 

“Hell yes you are.”


	7. Things Gonna get Weird (bill cipher laugh)

Lava rocks sniffed at the new-smelling polyester, before sinking his claws into the cloth. Hunk pried him off and set him on the sofa before he could tear the stuffing out. 

 

Him and Lance moved around the furniture a bit, moving the sofa more towards the middle of the room and pushing the mattress to the corner. Then Hunk went back outside to get the bedding and groceries while Lance took a breather. 

Lance was putting his thermals back on when Hunk came back inside. “Gotta get to work, big guy. See ya tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah. C’mere,” Hunk wrapped an arm around Lance, who squeezed back. “Thanks for helping me out.”

 

“Anytime, man!” Lance grinned. Lava meowed and Lance scratched his ears. “See ya.”

 

“ _ Adious, _ ”

 

Hunk turned to the bed and undid the bindings on the box, throwing the pillows against the wall and bags on the countertop. He threw the sheets on, bringing the woven blanket from the couch to act as a quilt, and laughed as Lava jumped on the bed and started kneading the sheets with his needle claws.

* * *

  
  


Allura brought Keith home after the sun set.

 

“He’s not going outside for a week, no television or glowing holograms, and no strain on his eyes at all.” She said.

 

Keith rolled his eyes. He mostly seemed back to his sassy and salty self. “I’ll be alright, Allura.”

 

“And Lotor is getting his ass kicked tonight. A lot of the other racers were mad that none of them got paid because he cheated, and out for revenge. I’m one of them.” Allura cracked her knuckles. The thin soulmark that stretched across her face glowed a faint pink. “See you at work, Hunk.”

 

She left before Hunk could offer her some cake or assistance beating up Lotor.

 

“Is that a bed?” Keith’s eyes widened. “Hunk!”

 

“I figured your back was getting sick of me, so I bought one with Lance today. And I made you some real food!”

 

Keith grinned happily. “Hunk, it's  _ perfect.  _ Are those star sheets?” 

 

“Yeah, babe. Go sit, prop yourself up. You ever had chocolate cake?”

* * *

  
  


Keith had never had chocolate cake in his life. Once, a lifetime ago when his parents were less paranoid, he was invited to a birthday party and had a bite of a chocolate bar. He remembered it rather vividly, the caramel and nougat melting in his mouth and sticking to his teeth.

 

Chocolate cake was nothing like that.

 

It was thick and brown and crumbly, but soft in his mouth. It was almost sickening in flavor, but the cream-like substance on the top balanced it out. 

 

It was way better than half a candy bar. It was a slice of heaven. He closed his eyes, a pleasant hum in his throat. 

 

“Oh goodness gracious. Hunk, this is amazing.”

 

Hunk embarrassedly rubbed the back of his neck, biceps rippling and a blush dusting his nose. “It's just a cake. It’s my mama’s recipe.” 

 

Keith took another bite, savoring it. Chocolate ice cream had nothing on this. “My mama don’t have recipes. Can we use yours’ more often?”

 

Instead of answering, Hunk gave him an odd look. “She had no recipes? No family traditions with food?”

 

Keith shrugged. “She was a paranoid ex-military officer. She might have known some, but never made food.”

 

“And your Dad?” 

 

“Mhm. Same thing. Once brought home fresh roasted peanuts, though.”

 

Keith took another bite. He didn't seem to notice Hunk’s worried look.

* * *

  
  


Cake was for breakfast. Keith didn't complain, but he knew he’ll never be able to go back to food packets after this.

 

Lava meowed, begging for some of the crumbs but Hunk pushed him away.

 

“Chocolate is poisonous to cats,” he explained. Keith nodded.

 

“Can I meet your moms? Call them with you, sometime.” Keith asked, seemingly out of the blue. 

 

“Shit!” Hunk exclaimed. “I haven't called them like, at all, the past month!” 

 

He shot off the couch, fumbling with his jeans and looking for that damned phone.

 

“Shit, no service. God, they haven't even texted me? This whole time?”

 

“Well, we are adults.” Keith shrugged. “And we’ve been busy.”

 

Lava purred, almost in agreement. He tried to jump onto the sofa but Keith grabbed him in mid air.

 

Hunk eyes Lava’s paws, the pads almost healed and claws unintentionally out. “The cat has six toes.”

 

“Huh?” Keith twisted the cat so he could look at his toe beans. Lava let out a hiss. “Oh. He does. Weird.”

 

“And that's not the only thing. Haggar’s cat has another set of ears on its head!” Hunk recalled, the air hissing through his teeth. “And we’ve been with this cat for almost a month, and we never noticed that this cat doesn't have four toes?”

 

Keith only shrugged. “It does explain why he scratches so much.”

 

When Hunk sent him a confusing look, Keith shrugged. “I bet it's a descendent from a cat on Earth. As for Haggar’s cat, I’m sure it's genetic or something. If cats can have six toes, then hers can have four ears.”

 

* * *

 

Sefram regarded him with dull eyes as he clocked in for work, nails clicking on the countertop.

 

“How’s Keith?”

 

“Better. He thinks a whole week off of work is too much and wants to come back tomorrow.” Hunk half smiled. “He also wants to kick Lotor’s ass.”

 

“He better not try to sneak up here or I’ll make it two weeks. That boy works so hard.” Sefram’s eyes softened. “And how's your arm?”

 

“My arm?” Hunk repeated. 

 

Sefram shot him a weird look. “Pidge said that you cut it.” 

 

“Oh. Uh, I actually don't know?” Hunk pushed the sleeves up on his arm, looking for that cut that he barely remembered but it stung. 

 

Ouch. It was red and caked with grime and oozing pus.

 

“Uh, it’s doin’ fine,” he lied, rolling his sleeve back down before they caught sight of it.

 

“Good. Now, there's an old 780 that someone brought in today, and you’re the only one who's familiar with the schematics, since Lance isn't working until tomorrow. And after that,” Their eyes twinkled. “I have a project for the whole team to work on.”

 

“Ooh, what type of project? Allterrain? Hover?”

 

They smiled. The viper around their neck grinned. “You’ll find out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH COOL 
> 
> Also please leave a comment instead of kudos! even if its something small, like "this is really cute!" it honestly makes my day more then kudos. me and my beta reader worked hard to give you this story!


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